I recently read that Tiger Woods is selling his yacht, Privacy, for $25 million. He bought it as a wedding present for his wife, Elin Nordegren, for a mere $20 million. He offered it to her in their divorce settlement, but she declined. Perhaps there were too many sequins and boa feathers and sticks of Orbit gum and bikini bottoms left on it from the lady friends he was entertaining while still married? He has downsized to a $3 million yacht named Solitude. From Privacy to Solitude. That’s so, like, Buddhist, which is what he said he is in one of his mid-scandal, well-scripted press conferences.
When he purchased the yacht, he never set foot on it during renovations. But his then-fiancée was very involved in the decorating, choosing white silk fabric for the walls and cherry wood handrails for the staircase. Christensen Shipyards builds about three Tri-Deck fiberglass motor yachts per year, leaving them 40 percent unfinished so their clients can tailor the interiors to their own taste. A project manager was happy to report how pleasant Elin Nordegren was: “She was a quick decision maker, no haggling!”
So I was thinking, hey, if I had $25 million to spend on a mega yacht, I could keep it moored in front of my little 250-square-foot camp at Lazy Point. I guess I’d have to ask the trustees’ permission, but how could they object to such a magnificent display, plopped down in the middle of the channel, affording me a splendid view of Hicks Island?
Tiger Woods has been quoted as saying he bought the yacht as a sanctuary from the media. Well, I could use it as a sanctuary from Route 27 traffic, fresh air, and outdoor life in general.
Here is what my new fantasy motor yacht has: a 29.5-foot beam, a pair of 1,800 horsepower MTU/Detroit Diesel motors (oops, sorry, delicate shellfish population of Napeague Bay!), two 99-kilowatt Northern Lights generators, fluid capacities for 12,000 gallons of fuel (glug, glug!), 2,000 gallons of water, three Sea-Doos, two kayaks, and two Vespa scooters. No longer any need to dip my toes into that pesky saltwater! On the deck is a large bar, an eight-person jacuzzi, a station to fill scuba tanks, and an inflatable decompression chamber. One of the twin cabins has been converted into a workout room with a treadmill, exercise bike, and free weights. So rather than take a leisurely bike ride down Shore Road, greeting my neighbors, I can cycle in air-conditioned comfort on my slightly used mega yacht. Oh, and there’s an elevator.
I worry a little bit about seeming ostentatious out there at Lazy Point where most of the houses are small, the boats used for fishing, and the neighborhood low-key. So I should probably toodle over to Sag Harbor where my yacht can mingle with the Combses and Joels and Mottolas. Better yet, maybe I could get some fellow mega yacht owners to join me, perhaps Andrey Melnichenko and his Philippe Starck-designed 390-foot yacht, A. Maybe Roman Abromovich and his 500-foot Eclipse (which burns 691 gallons of fuel per hour at cruising speed) would like to break bread at the Beacon while on his summer vacation. It’s too bad Mikhail Khodorkovsky can’t join us. He’s in jail and his yacht is just bobbing around in St. Bart’s. We’ll just have to raise a glass to him, as our yachts are tied together, watching the sunset through our bullet-proof, U.V.-deflecting, tinted windows in the air-conditioned comfort of our floating, moneyed, luxury wombs.
So I’m saving up my pennies for this purchase. I usually cash in my spare change at the CoinStar machine at King Kullen and just use it for groceries. But now I’m thinking big. I’m dreaming mega . . . I just want my Privacy.
Laura Donnelly is a food writer at The Star.